


She remembers

by AdelaResonaro



Category: Persona 4, Persona Series
Genre: Gen, I'm trying with the whole suspense thing, Mentions of Murder, Most of the other characters only make a brief appearence, but i think i failed, yukiko-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelaResonaro/pseuds/AdelaResonaro
Summary: One month after it all began, Yukiko encounters the first murder victim.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	She remembers

"Sorry for bothering you at this hour."

"It's fine, Chie. Explaining the exercise to you gave me a chance to study, anyway."

"I guess, but it's still not fair to you... I'll treat you tomorrow, okay? And I swear I'll stop calling you so much."

"I don't mind."

"You should! It's nearly-" there's some shuffling in the background, as Chie attempts to reveal her clock under the several sheets of paper that it’s likely buried in. Yukiko has seen the ordeal enough times to recognize the telltale sounds of it, and so she waits patiently, unable to fight a little smile. "-two! Oh my gosh, it's nearly two in the morning, Yukiko! I'm so sorry for keeping you this late!"

"Don't worry. Sleep well, Chie. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah, good night... and I'm really sorry!"

Yukiko's reply of reassurance dies on her lips when her phone beeps, signalling the end of the call. Her hand moves tiredly towards her notebook, closing it with a small flick of her wrist. She remains in her seat as her eyes drift towards the pale numbers on her screen, flickering with the harsh truth of passing time.

2:09 am, it said.

Yukiko should go to sleep. She has a test first thing in the morning, a result of some of her classmates falling asleep on Mrs. Nakayama’s lecture. The math teacher had been so mad she’d sentenced their classroom to a whole week of tests. If Yukiko were to fall asleep in her class…

She shudders. Motivated by the thought, she stands up and begins preparing the things she’ll need for the day. Notebooks, her pencil case, her calculator… her hand pauses at the empty space on the right side of her backpack. That’s right, Yu said he wanted to go to the TV World, didn’t he? To train and explore the place a bit more.

She goes to retrieve her fan, placing it in that empty space with a small sigh. It would be a long day, no doubt… She should mentally prepare for the evening, too… with her luck, those tabloid reporters would try to strike a deal again, and Yukiko would be forced to endure an hour-long rant of so-called ‘benefits’ and ‘how they could use the murder to their advantage’.

She closes her backpack with more force than necessary, scowling.

“I hope they don’t come…”

And they don’t, but Yukiko finds herself wishing it _was_ them instead of the thirty or so costumers they had gotten overnight. The inn is abuzz with joyful voices from their increasingly inebriated states. Yukiko dodges their arms and sudden movements out of pure instinct, cultivated from hours of training with her friends. Her only clear focus is on saving the empty dishes hovering too close to the edge of the table, or the occasional teapot or cup knocked over by a distracted elbow. And, of course, on not falling asleep where she stands. She dives into the sea of bodies littering the common room like an afterthought, offering tired smiles accompanied by a quiet ‘hope you enjoyed your meal’ as she goes. Nobody notices her, which is a welcome change – usually, at least ten people would have asked her about her plans for the future, about the inn or about school. A particularly daring costumer would tell her to come to his room later at night, an offer she would politely refuse. Nothing happens today though. Perhaps they can sense how tired she is.

She’s on her way back to the room to check if there are any dishes left, or if the sake is in need of replenishment – how much can people drink? Yukiko can barely stomach a single sip – but gets sidetracked before making the final turn. There’s a staff member who had clearly bit more than he can chew. He’s trying to balance multiple dishes in one hand and cleaning utensils in the other, and just watching him wobble about reminds her of Yosuke, on one of his shifts, juggling many things on his arms in an effort to finish work faster.

She snorts at the mental image in her head and hurries to help him. She takes the broom and the mop and helps him regain his balance, probably more amused than she should be with his immense sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that, Amagi-san.”

“It’s alright. Where are these from?”

“Oh, um… I think they are from the second floor. East wing?”

The east wing. She had avoided that particular place of the inn for almost a month now, but she knew that sooner or later she would need to go back. The staff member must follow her line of thought if his shifty eyes and awkward shuffling are anything to go by.

“Leave it to me.”

“Thank you.”

The trip is longer than it has the right to be. Sipping with exhaustion, her whole body heavy and sore, moving feels like it takes ages, especially with the broom and the mop which seem to weigh tons in her arms. Perhaps it’s only a few minutes in reality, but when Yukiko finally spots the east wing’s supply closet it feels like centuries have passed. She stumbles a bit when she opens it, clumsily placing the items she was carrying inside.

Her room feels so far away now… and she still has to help out in the inn…

She groans dejectedly, her normally elegant movements sluggish and miserable. She even lets her head drop onto one of the wooden walls, taking a moment to breathe. She idly wonders if she’ll fall asleep like this, and finds she doesn’t care at all.

Resting her eyes for a few minutes should be fine…

“Excuse me?”

Her eyes snap open. The room is too bright. She squints her eyes, searching for the source of the voice like a zombie looking for its next meal. She does it less because it’s basic manners and more because of an instinctive need, honed after years and years working at the inn. She pauses for a second when she realizes this, realizes that automatically answering to a customer is something that will be forever impregnated in her, like it’s coded into her very DNA.

The next heiress of the Amagi Inn. A future set in stone, chosen for her even before her birth.

She grits her teeth. Forces a smile a second later, fighting the fatigue just to hear what this particular customer needs.

“What can I help you with?” The words roll out of her mouth with practiced ease. She hates every moment of it.

Someone on the other side of the room shifts. It’s a small movement. Yukiko almost misses it due to how hard it is to keep her eyes open.

“Can you open the door, please?”

She blinks once. Twice. Thrice. That’s it? Just open the door?

“Is it stuck?” She asks instead, internally cursing the old structure of the inn. This had happened a few times already, and it was becoming increasingly bothersome for everyone. Yukiko didn’t mind in the beginning, since it meant they’d probably lose customers and maybe, just maybe, the Amagi Inn would finally close its doors after generations of service, but that was before she had to deal with the problem herself. Like now. When the only thing that she wants to do is sleep.

“I can’t open it.” The woman on the other side admits, and Yukiko just takes it as a ‘yes, the door is stuck’. She sits on the hallway seiza style and reaches for the door with both hands. If the door is stuck, then she’d have to give it a hard tug. The thought almost makes her want to groan in frustration.

She takes a moment to gather strength, to feel the comforting presence of her Persona in the back of her mind and remind herself that if she battles otherworldly beings almost every day, getting a door unstuck should be no problem at all. Emboldened, she pulls the door with all her strength and expects to feel the resistance that usually comes with stuck doors. Except the door isn’t stuck at all. It slides smoothly under her fingers, crashing with a sharp, heavy slam against the opposite jamb. It bounces right back thanks to its momentum, and she’s so taken aback by it all that she loses her balance and falls forward into the room with a small gasp.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I-I thought the door…” She stammers, clumsily trying to adopt a sitting position. The yukata restricts her movements and she flops like a fish out of water for a few seconds, her face turning beet red with embarrassment as she imagines what the costumer must be thinking.

The same woman who let her think the door was stuck when it clearly wasn’t.

She frowns slightly as she finally draws herself up, her eyes scanning the room. It’s one of the luxury ones, adorned with several appliances and traditional Japanese objects. It’s pristine as if whoever was staying in there hadn’t bothered to unpack. Or perhaps they were just very organized with their things.

Yukiko was so used to seeing clothes thrown around that the sight made her pause, made her take another look around. There were no bags, no laptops, no iPads, no cellphones charging in the wall. The futons were still rolled up in the closet. The pillows surrounding the table hadn’t been used. The windows had their curtains drawn.

It was almost as if… the room was unoccupied… 

A chill creeps up her spine, leaving her frozen in place as if hit with a Bufu spell. Her mind gets stuck on the memory of a quiet voice, on the movement she had seen inside the room. Her heart drums on her ears, insistent. It almost seems to drown the sound of her footsteps as she slowly, slowly moves about.

“Hello?” She tries. No one answers.

There really is no one in the room.

Her gaze travels up. Talismans litter the room.

She feels excitement bubble in her chest, her fatigue all but forgotten thanks to the adrenaline now coursing through her body.

"Yamano-san?" She calls. She remembers what her mother had said not long ago, that this room would remain locked for a few months until the murder scandal was but a memory.

Her gaze falls on the door, automatically searching for the lock. No signs of it being broken. When she reaches forward to fumble with it, she finds it works perfectly fine. She bits her lip slightly as she considers what all of it means... Someone had removed the lock from the inside. Not only that, but the lights were on when they _shouldn’t_ be.

"Yamano-san, are you here?" She asks again, moving towards the table. No response again. How do people communicate with ghosts in stories...? Yukiko feels thoroughly ignored. "Please give me a sign that you're here."

With each second that passes the atmosphere grows more unnerving. Her excitement wanes.

She feels a movement behind her. She spins around, falling into her familiar fighting stance effortlessly, her hand travelling to her waist where her fan should be. Her fingers close around thin air. She’s caught in a brief moment of panic; certain she’ll be knocked over by a Shadow during that brief show of weakness. It takes her a moment to remember she’s in the real world, but it does little to ease her wariness. Vulnerability gnaws at what was left of her excitement, making it crumble at her feet and allowing it to be replaced with soul-wrenching dread.

What is even stranger is that Yukiko barely registers those emotions. She’s aware of them, swirling angrily at the back of her conscience like a poorly contained storm, but they feel dull. Distant. Like something is keeping them at bay, something powerful and warm and comforting. It allows her to think with a clear, sharp focus.

Her breath comes out in a puff of air. Her fingers itch with a familiar energy. The presence of her Persona becomes more prominent than ever before.

The room doesn’t feel so empty anymore. She can feel the heavy presence of something – _someone_ – hanging in the air. Yukiko suddenly understands why Chie hates ghost stories so much… At least Shadows are visible. Easy to set on fire. Ghosts? Not so much.

She swallows, mouth dry.

“We are looking for your killer.” She says, voice soft. The room buzzes with a dark, suffocating atmosphere as if the very presence is recoiling at her words. With the sudden certainty that something _bad_ would happen, she hurries to explain. “We know about the other world, about those creatures…” Her gaze travels to the small TV in the room, meaningfully. “About the fog. About the other you. We know what you experienced. We understand. And… we _will_ catch whoever did this to you.”

No sooner has she finished talking that the heaviness in the room seems to draw closer, to condense around her body. It becomes harder to move, to do much of anything. She’s forced to keep in place, feeling a cold gust of air curl around her arms and legs like chains. She grits her teeth, reminding herself to remain calm, trying to keep her body from shivering…

The coldness travels upwards. Her breath stutters when it stops around her throat. It lingers there long enough that Yukiko wonders if it will tighten, if she’ll find out how Mayumi Yamano really felt on her last moments, if she’s so full of bitter resentment that only a death would satisfy her. Either her killer’s or someone else’s. Maybe what haunts this room isn’t really her ghost, but her Shadow. Could Shadows leave the TV World?

The itch on her fingers increases tenfold with each thought. She can feel the air around her hands turn warm, and the cold flinches away from her as if struck.

The light flickers. The small TV blares to life with a dull groan, bathing the room in an unsettling grey light. Yukiko gazes at it curiously, expecting to see something, but the screen remains blank.

"She's gone," Yukiko notes, voice low. She didn't know what she had been expecting. A fight with a ghost? How would that turn out? Had she any hope of winning against an invisible, intangible enemy? What was that coldness? Maybe she had imagined everything – why would the ghost of the victim want to murder someone who only wanted to help?

Her Persona disappears inside her mind. Her emotions crash into her like a thunderous wave. Exhaustion sips deep into her bones, so sudden and so powerful it leaves her dizzy. Her hand grips the doorframe in an effort to keep herself uptight - the wood sizzles under her touch for a brief second.

She's so tired. If she had been on the verge of falling asleep on her feet before, now all she wants is to curl up tight on the floor and sleep for a thousand years.

With a small groan, she gathers all of her strength to exit the damned room, closing the door softly behind her. She staggers a bit once outside, eyes narrowing in an effort to make out the blurry splotch of brown that is the hallway.

By some miracle, she manages to make it all the way towards the main hall without falling asleep. All she needs to do now is to go to the first floor and…

“Yuki-chan?” A voice calls. It takes a second for Yukiko to recognize it, and she groggily turns to look over her shoulder.

“…Kasai-san?”

The waitress clicks her tongue disapprovingly, frowning. “You look like you’re going to faint! You should go to sleep, dear. I believe we can handle the rest.” Her voice carries a tone of finality that makes Yukiko’s lips quirk up just slightly, touched by the older woman’s concern.

“Thank you, Kasai-san…”

The older woman nods, steading Yukiko with her hands. “Let me help you, dear… did you come down with something?”

“I-I’m just… tired. It’s been a… busy day.”

“That it has, it’s true… hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow, but I’m sure your mother won’t mind if you miss school for one day…” She trails off. It takes Yukiko a few seconds to realize they’ve stopped. Kasai is staring down at her arm, a myriad of emotions crossing her face. It settles on cold fury. “Yuki-chan, who did this to you?”

“What?” She follows the waitress’ line of sight and discovers the sleeve of her yukata had risen with their shuffling. It left exposed a red, angry imprint of a handprint a bit below her wrist, and Yukiko marvels over it the same way a forensic doctor might marvel over a corpse. It would no doubt turn into an ugly bruise later, though Yukiko isn’t overly concerned over that fact. It’s nothing a quick Dia won’t fix. Rather, she now had evidence something had touched her back in that room. It _had_ to be Yamano.

How would Chie react? Yukiko almost giggles with childish delight.

“Yuki-chan.” Kasai says, more urgently. Her eyes glint like mini-thunderstorms.

“Don’t worry.” She searches through her mind for an excuse, but she’s too tired to make up something believable. “It’s a funny story – I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

All she gets from Kasai is a look she can’t decipher.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so if I ended up being too repetitive with my descriptions or dialogue, or made some typos, you're welcome to tell me!


End file.
